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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755145">familiar faces &amp; other things I don’t care for</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriesandrobots/pseuds/faeriesandrobots'>faeriesandrobots</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Disabled Character, Incredibly self indulgent, Nonbinary Character, Not Beta Read, Original Character(s), Other, Probably going to stay unfinished, Second Person, You have a house in Dublin and are not a millionaire, maybe becomes a mystery?, so suspend your disbelief, we’ll see, x Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:26:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,825</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeriesandrobots/pseuds/faeriesandrobots</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You have your shit together, you’ve had your shit together for several years now. Victor Armstrong, your genius ex of two years, has decidedly not got his shit together. Unfortunately he lacks the kindness to keep you out of his bullshit, and the two of you collide once more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>familiar faces &amp; other things I don’t care for</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is something fun I wrote during quarantine. My logic is that it’s better to upload this here, get used to ao3’s system and just get into the habit of writing again. After all, some questionable words are better than none</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a good day for you, work was relatively painless and your commute was shorter than usual. When you got home and shimmied your way into your best outfit and that particular pair of heels, you knew you’d be coming home with someone new tonight. The club had a not so awful DJ tonight and was teeming with attractive people of all shapes and sizes. By all means, it was set up to be the perfect prelude to a satisfactory one night stand. Of course, it had to go awry. </p><p>You spot him across the bar, a double take that makes your jaw clench automatically. He’s wearing a white shirt, black trousers, blazer and tie. He’s overdressed, as usual. It’s been two years but you can still remember the whine in his voice as he complained that everyone in the world were the ones who were underdressed. You still won the argument that night, and he spent the entire afternoon moping about in your hoodie and his only pair of jeans. </p><p>He swallows down his whiskey like it’s a sport. He looks almost defeated when he finishes it, looking into the glass as if more would appear because of the mere weight of his expectation. There’s something quiet about him, and you can’t think of a time you saw that sort of calm on him. That’s when his eyes meet yours. They’re brown and unimpressed. The chill of the night air and his eyes cause goosebumps to rise on your arms. He carefully looks you up and down, and you wonder if this is what people mean when they say someone is undressing them with their eyes. There’s nothing appreciative in the gesture with him, it was more like he was sizing you up than checking you out. It’s cold and calculating, and you wish it still didn’t make your heart skip a beat. </p><p>He swaggers his way over to you. His hair has grown, now hanging like curtains to whatever the style is called, it’s slightly unkempt. Whether that is purposeful or not has yet to be seen. </p><p>His voice, painfully posh to your ears, rings out as he gestures to the bartender, “Two more.” You don’t protest this, at least you’ll get a drink out of this. </p><p>He looks right into your eyes with the same expectation he looked at the whiskey with. You decide to slowly seat yourself at the bar, letting him wait for you to settle. As expected, he gives a huff and sits down beside you. </p><p>“It’s been a while, Victor.” His name hasn’t graced your lips in a while, you hope he can’t tell that you’re savouring it. </p><p>“It has.” He doesn’t elaborate, but the slight hiss of his voice speaks to a bad day. It’s funny how you can still read his mood so well, you suppose he never was a particularly private person. </p><p>“How’s the whole professional genius thing working for you?” You ask, not entirely hoping for an answer. The bartender, a young woman with blue cornrows who was always a good chat, pours your drinks and passes them to both of you. She gives you a questioning look, you usually don’t let people buy you drinks and make the point of being a successful young professional instead. You thank her and wave off her concern. Victor doesn’t say anything, and you know he’s still staring right at you. </p><p>He thankfully takes a sip, you don’t feel like carrying him into a taxi tonight. “I’m working with Trinity currently, the physics department to be specific.” You’re surprised your coworkers didn’t tell you he would be coming, though you did keep this particular embarrassment away from academic circles. Still, most people didn’t hesitate to gush about the Victor Armstrong coming to help with their research project. </p><p>“I’ll probably see you around then. They gave me tenure last Spring,” you look over to him to see if he didn’t know, never missing a chance to get a leg up on him. </p><p>He seems to be surprised, genuinely even. “You’d be the youngest tenured professor in Classics then.” His voice is lighter, he always softened when he gained new information. </p><p>“Professor Albernath didn’t mention this to you?” You know you sound bitter when you say this. You can taste it as it leaves your mouth, but you don’t know if you care quite yet. </p><p>“No, he didn’t,” He’s sipping his drink again, “there’s cause for late congratulations then, I suppose.” Of course he only supposes. </p><p>“The pay was better than any of my other offers, they seemed to be desperate to keep me. Something about keeping successful ex-students for once.”</p><p>“I always knew you’d be a first something, didn’t know it’d be that though.” You feel that familiar feeling of frustration flare in your stomach, he was always talented at getting a rise out of you. </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t that just novel? For once in your life you don’t know something.” You show your teeth, it’s slightly too mean spirited to be considered a grin, much less a smile. </p><p>Naturally, he takes the bait. “I never said I knew everything. I just happen to retain information better than other people, you of all people should know that.”</p><p>“Is that so? Well, I’m unsurprised that I was the first out of the two of us to find themselves committed to anything. Are you staying in a hotel or going for a month-by-month contract this time?”</p><p>“Hotel.” He almost spits it out, his body tense and gaze serious. It’s almost fun messing with him like this. </p><p>You hum in agreement as you take your first sip from your drink. It burns pleasantly. </p><p>“It’s not like you can talk,” the familiar whine entering his voice, “it’s not like you were particularly open either.”</p><p>You look him dead in the eyes for a moment. He’s clearly put off his guard by this change in tone, the intimacy of it all. Throwing him off never fails to be satisfactory. “Is this the conversation you want to have with me right now?” You ask plainly. </p><p>He sighs, and you notice the bags under his eyes. Victor had many looks, but tired was not one of them. You feel the urge to put him to bed, he seems so exhausted, he almost looks unwell. </p><p>“No, no, it isn’t.” </p><p>You quickly swallow down the rest of your drink. His eyebrows lift as he obviously ogles the movement of your bare throat. The attention feeds your ego, you know that you look hot. </p><p>“Let’s go find somewhere more private,” you grab him by the elbow and carefully dismount from the chair, making sure to keep your balance. You look to Ngozi at the bar and then to him, “I presume you have a tab?”</p><p>He pauses, clearly processing the change in plans and nods. He waves to Ngozi, swallows and says, “Put their drinks on me.” He stands and follows you as you guide the pair of you to the seating area away from the bar. “You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?”</p><p>You laugh something pithy. Victor was always oblivious to things like this, the mind of a genius but the social sense of a teen. “No Victor, you don’t need to worry about your purity tonight. I don’t plan on sleeping with you either, trust me when I say the feeling is mutual.”</p><p>For some reason, he huffs again. You know him well, but he’s never been a complete open book to anymore, much less to you after two years of zero contact. </p><p>You weave through groups of people chatting and smoking on the balcony. It’s a nice club that curates the perfect kind of company to attract deep pockets like Victor. The air is sometimes stale with the taste of cigarettes and often sweet with plumes of strawberry smoke from a Juul. You have no issue finding somewhere to sit privately, but you choose two loveseats facing opposite each other in the corner of the balcony railing. </p><p>Victor teeters onto the blush leather seat, leaving you with the one with its back against the wall. Knowing him, it was no accident. You usually only feel at ease when you could see the rest of the room. You’re unsure whether to take it as a nice gesture, or simply as a basic decency. Either way, you sit yourself down and fix the wrinkles in your clothes. </p><p>After a moment of silence, he finally asks, “so what do you want to know?”</p><p>“How you’ve been, what you’re doing back in Dublin, you know, the usual. It’s been two years, and as far as I know, you have been cooped up in some cave somewhere.” You don’t say what you want to say, ‘I miss you’ seems inappropriate and desperate. As you said, it’s been two years, you feel like you shouldn’t want to crawl onto his lap. You decide to blame the whiskey. </p><p>“I’ve been busy, and as I told you earlier,” he’s clearly still a little annoyed, “I’m working with Professor Albernath. It’s a physics thing, and they want my help so they’re paying me handsomely.”</p><p>Bullshit, Victor has never been needy in the cash department, and you doubt that Trinity of all places were the highest bidders in the academic auction for his attention. “Oh, and here I was thinking Oxbridge would be your next roost. Closer to home and all that.”</p><p>“I’ve never been one for sentiment, and Dublin was convenient. It aligns with my interests currently.” You wonder whether that means what you think it does. You doubt he of all people misses you, but you don’t know what else Ireland has to offer him. </p><p>“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you at some industry convention or something. We always seemed to find ourselves in the same circles before.”</p><p>“Are you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. Are you surprised?”</p><p>Your face flushes at his brashness. You don’t know whether you feel comfortable showing my sleeve in this moment, so naturally you deflect. “I suppose your interest have always changed with time, and as you said, you’re focusing on physics at the moment.” He seems almost disappointed with your answer. “So, where are you staying in our fine city?”</p><p>“The Maldron this time around, I heard some glowing reviews from a friend of mine. Have you moved to the city? Or are you still trekking your way in?” </p><p>“Finally bothered with getting a nice little house in town. It’s a sweet little red brick with this beautiful stained glass door.” You feel proud in sharing this with him, showing this proof of your now picture perfect life. </p><p>“You always said you’d go for red brick, what with your hatred of modern builds and all.” He seems wistful. It’s understandable, you used to both talk about houses and architecture, always with the unspoken promise that you’d be sharing a roof together someday. Things have certainly changed a lot since then.</p><p>“I’ve heard the Maldron is quite nice. I have a second cousin who works there and it’s meant to be very fancy.” You look out onto the view of the city. “How’s working with Albernath going for you? I thought you two didn’t like each other”</p><p>He scoffs, because of course he does. “That’s the understatement of the century,” then he catches yourself and puts on his professional mask, “Well, Albernath and I are getting on just as needed right now. Even if he is a stubborn old git.”</p><p>You smile, “I didn’t think he was working on any projects lately. What changed his mind?”</p><p>That’s when he shifts again slightly. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s one of his tells. “Someone gave him an idea he couldn’t stop thinking about, I guess.”</p><p>“That’s not the Albernath I know. That man has been busy planning his incredibly boring retirement for the last year. Trust me, he’s told me about half of it.” You lean towards him, faux conspiratorially, and stage whisper into his ear. “Spoiler alert: it primarily involved wine, golf and expensive women.” You chuckle as you sink back into your seat and he now looks as white as a ghost. </p><p>“Well, let’s just say it’s important. Very important.” His cufflinks are silver arrows that reflect the lights and he fiddles with them. “Anyway, what’s it like being the youngest tenured Classics professor? Are all of your students fawning over you? Have you got your own personal dead poets society yet? Any illicit affairs with faculty members?”</p><p>It’s obvious that he’s trying to distract you, but you decide to play along, “It’s surprisingly uneventful, I always hoped I’d get at least one murder mystery once I got job security, but alas, all I get is students coming out to me weekly. Who knew classics attracted so many queer youths.” You wish this was hyperbole, but apparently young classicists see an openly nonbinary professor and immediately decide they are the queer elder they need in their lives. </p><p>“With all that on your plate, I presume you’ve had to hold back on the illicit affairs.” Oh, so that’s his angle, you think to yourself. </p><p>“If you’re asking me if I’m single, you’ll need to use your words, Victor.” You smile because of course you do. </p><p>“Well then, are you single?” </p><p>“I’m not sure if it’s any of your business, but yes I am. I’m trying on the commitment free look for once, borrowing a page from your book, if you will.” You don’t feel like you should be deriving so much joy from this interaction as you are. Still, you want to press on this particular bruise. </p><p>“Ha ha,” He says each ha with purpose, as if he was unsure that you’d understand that he did not in fact find this funny, “I didn’t think you’d wear the bitter ex look as well as you are. It suits your eyes.”</p><p>“I think I’d need to actually like you to be a bitter ex, but who knows.”</p><p>“Y/N, when has that ever stopped us before?”</p><p>You say nothing, what is there to say to that? He’s not wrong, but he’s certainly not right either. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, and you had almost forgotten how infuriating he could be at points, and how terribly attractive you found that. Looking into his eyes, you know he’s won, or at least thinks he has. He leans back into the loveseat, rumpling his pristine suit and you’re filled with the temptation to grab him by that tie and-</p><p>“Remember Berlin? Now that was a night.” He interrupts your train of thought before you can get your bearings. </p><p>“How can I forget?” Now you sound like a bitter ex. You desperately want a drink or something else to fulfil your need to do something with your hands or mouth. “If you want to spend tonight remembering nights like Berlin, you better get me something to drink, Victor.” You’re unsure if he’ll take that offer in one of two ways. </p><p>He grins with his entire face, “Then I suppose I’ll get you another drink. Water or...?” </p><p>“Water, we’re both going to be on water tonight.” Well, this evening’s entertainment was now decided. He grins again, somehow fuller this time, clearly pleased with himself. You don’t know whether you’ll regret this, but it’s been two years and you’re interested in seeing how this goes. </p><p>For a couple hours, the pair of you drink water and talk. He laughs to your stories about your classes, asks about how your friends are doing and listens receptively to each word you say. It’s easy being with him, even after all this time. He’s relatively sparse on details about his new project, but tells you about eventful overnight flights across the world and students who think they know everything.</p><p>“Not much has changed then, hm?” You’re smile unreservedly at him. </p><p>He sighs and looks deeply into your eyes, “No, I suppose not. The only difference is the faces, though I must say, you were always my favourite know-it-all pre-doc. Better banter than half of the new lot on the scene.”</p><p>“God, I’ve been thinking the same. I know my lot must be getting up to the same old mischief as us, but I honestly can’t imagine them pulling it off. Though, I certainly don’t miss the phone bills and late nights, old age has finally hit me and I’m utterly domestic now.”</p><p>He gives a smug look, and you return it with a questioning one. “I think tonight constitutes a late night, unless the clocks have changed without me knowing. Maybe we should both start figuring out where we’ll be sleeping.”</p><p>“Maybe we should.”</p><p>Neither of you say anything for a moment. That’s when you decide to take initiative and without much thought, you find yourself saying, “Mine, I’m not in the mood for a night in a hotel.”</p>
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